A FLOOD OF STRESSED VETS IS EXPECTED

Last May, Tim Chapman was sitting in his car on the edge of a cliff,
weeping. If he took his foot off the brake, he would go over the edge
- - to silence, to peace, and to death.

"It was a truck stop in Truckee," Chapman said. "I was driving to
Reno. I was literally going to kill myself. I kept thinking: I should
have stayed in Iraq. I should have died over there."

The 23-year-old National Guardsman, just six months back from a tour
in the combat zone, sat on the brink for two hours. Even today, he
isn't sure why he didn't launch himself over the side.

Instead, he backed off the cliff and drove himself to a hospital in
Roseville. Within three days, he was in the psych ward at a Veterans
Affairs hospital. Today, after extensive therapy, he thinks his life
is beginning to make sense again.

It's a wrenching story. But this isn't the end of it. It is just the beginning.

First a few facts. Bobby Rosenthal, regional manager for homeless
programs at the Department of Veterans Affairs, estimates that one
third of the more than 6,000 homeless people - about 2,100 - in San
Francisco are veterans.

And no wonder the number is so high. California leads the nation in
homeless veterans by a mile, according to the National Coalition for
Homeless Veterans. The 2006 numbers showed 49,724 homeless vets in
California. The next nearest state was New York with 21,147.

Now here's the scary part. Compared with what's coming, that's nothing.

Roughly 750,000 troops served in the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan,
often with multiple tours of duty. Many are only now returning home.
But unlike Vietnam veterans, who didn't begin to demonstrate post-war
trauma until five or 10 years after they left the war, this group
seems to be on a fast track.

"Everything is speeded up," said Michael Blecker, executive director
of San Francisco's Swords to Ploughshares program. "What we're seeing
in San Francisco is guys in their 20s with the kind of stress and
trauma that makes it impossible to go on with their lives."

It's been called a health care tsunami. Because not only are the Iraq
vets prone to post-traumatic stress disorder (something Chapman has
battled) but with improved battlefield health care, far more are
surviving traumatic injury. On one hand, that's good news, but it
also means many more vets who are severely disabled, having lost arms
and legs. Both factors increase the chances that the returning troops
will join the sad ranks of homeless veterans.

Cities all over the country are bracing themselves, although some,
like San Francisco, are bound to be hit harder. Mayor Gavin Newsom
says that at a recent conference of mayors, the group passed a
resolution asking the VA "to tell us what you are going to do."

"It's great lip service," Newsom said, "but show me the money."

If history holds, the mayors shouldn't hold their breath. If
anything, benefits for veterans have been restricted. To take one
example, many of us think of the World War II G.I. Bill as a shining
example of a reward for service, paying for college for vets. But
Blecker, of Swords for Ploughshares, says the current version "is in
no way, shape, or form near enough" to pay for a degree.

As Newsom says, "Yeah, support the troops - as long as they are
young, healthy and a great photo op."

For San Francisco, the potential impact could be huge. An influx of
traumatized, battle-scarred veterans presents a scary future.
Consider the case of Scott Kehler, a veteran of the first Gulf War,
who needed years to work through his demons. He recalls passing
burned bodies and the constant fear that an explosion would suddenly
erupt in the street.

"It was the things I didn't want to see at night when I closed my
eyes," Kehler said. "I didn't know what PTSD was. I only knew my
dreams, my shame, my guilt, was all coming together."

Kehler spent almost 16 years kicking around the country. He lived in
shelters in San Francisco and ate in free kitchens until a friend
suggested he get in contact with Ploughshares. He checked into the
group's transitional housing, a 60-person unit on Treasure Island,
and began to find himself.

Today he has been hired by the organization as a residence manager.
He's lived there 18 months, which doesn't sound like much until you
hear him say, "This is the longest I have lived in one place since 1990."

Kehler, who is mentoring Chapman, is testimony to the effectiveness
of the Ploughshares slogan - "veterans helping veterans."

"Especially now that we've got our veterans coming home from Iraq,"
said Ploughshares counselor Tyrone Boyd, "we're going to need people
that have been in combat so they know what they are talking about."

The challenges are unique. Wanda Heffernon, a program and clinical
counselor for Ploughshares, said they had a new inductee who slept in
the closet. It was the only place he felt safe.

It's the sudden transition that gets them.

"One day they are fighting in a war," said Kehler. "The next day they
are sitting at their mother's kitchen table."

Is it any wonder they end up on the street? Kehler battled alcohol
abuse, but Chapman is part of the new breed, who turn to
methamphetamine. Married when he returned, he lost his wife and all
contact with his parents. Eventually he ended up sleeping in an
alley. Now drug-free, living at Treasure Island housing, holding down
a full-time job, and reconnected with his mother, he is testimony to
the idea that peer counseling seems to work. Ploughshares has earned
support from Sens. Dianne Feinstein and Barbara Boxer and House
Speaker Nancy Pelosi.

Imagine the impact it would have on the San Francisco homeless
problem if one third of those on street were able to get help and housing.

But what the vets don't have is funding.

"Why isn't the federal government doing something about this? Why
isn't the Veterans Administration doing something?" Blecker asks.
"The irresponsibility of our leaders, not to address this, makes me
want to tear my hair out."

The VA's Rosenthal - who gets high marks from local leaders - says
the problem is not being ignored.

"It's a whole new set of challenges," she said. "The VA is looking at
it. Let's hope we've learned our lesson from Vietnam."

We can only hope.

"You know what scares me?" asks Boyd. "I haven't heard a plan (from
the federal government) about what they are going to do when the
troops come home. What's the plan?"

Well?